We all like to tell stories about the *spooky* things that happen when people mess around with Ouija boards, hexes and spells.
A friend had wierd banging noises in his house for months and was deeply, deeply worried that it was the result of getting drunk and attempting to summon the devil.*

What's scared the crud out of you after you've played with the dark side?

* it turned out to be a tramp living in his attic (no, really). Also, -5 points for rubbish Star Wars jokes

Adramelech!
When I was about 11, I borrowed a book from the local library called 'The Devils of D-Day' - a book on how the allies called upon supernatural and evil powers in order to win the 2nd world war.

In the book is an incantation, recital of which is meant to raise a particularly repugnant beast called 'Adramelech' the 'Chancellor of Hell'.

I was a gawky lad. Tall, almost impossibly lanky, achingly geeky and with a mawkish streak wider than Goatse's impressive opening. I was bullied quite a lot because of this.

I was also scared of the book. Scared of it's 'power'. Surely if I were to invoke Adramelech he would rescue me from my tormentors, rending them asunder, consuming their souls and casting their broken bodies aside as ash, dead and cold. At this juncture, I feel that I should point out that I had a rather effusive imagination and was often referred to as 'having my head in the clouds'.

During one particularly painful bout of bullying, something snapped within me. I had been holding back for so long; not wanting to release the demonic presence of Adramelech on my foolish aggressors. Adramelech who would feed on their puny bodies, crunching their bones and sucking out the marrow whilst they still lived - screaming and dying horribly in hideous and prolonged agony ...

As I said, I was a dreamer.

I invoked the wrath of the Chancellor of Hell; crying forth the memorized passage for his summoning in a voice thick with spite. I spat the words out like chunks of flaming bile at the bullies surrounding me:

An almost supernatural hush fell across the bullies who stood there, mouths agape. A dark cloud veiled the sun casting an eerie half-light across the playground. And then it happened. A hideous, screeching voice called out across the yard, chilling me to my very marrow:

'The lanky cunt's fucking lost it! Give him a fucking Chinese burn!'

And thus, I was not saved by a fiery demon, scything through the vicious bullies with blades of dark evil. I wasn't plucked from this mortal plane to sit at the side of Satan and while away the hours destroying the souls of countless sinners.

Instead I was given numerous Chinese burns across all the Chinese-burnable sections of my body and two very nasty atomic nipple-cripples.

Out of interest, I've just looked up Adramelech on Wikipedia. Apparently, he is also the 'Supervisor of Satan's wardrobe. Being generally depicted with a human torso and head, and the rest of the body of a mule (or sometimes as a peacock)'. Essentially the demonic version of Trinny or Susannah!? Fucking terrifying!

The hand that fills the underpants
In the early 80s the TV programme "Arthur C Clarke's Mysterious World" had caused quite a stir amongst us impressionable middle school pupils. Cue lots of tall tales flying around the school about seeing ghosts, UFOs, bigfoots and loch ness monsters (in fucking Slough) etc and so on.

Anyway, a few of us started claiming to own ouija boards and to be seasoned experts in contacting the dead, and so a bunch of kids arranged to meet up in the local graveyard the next weekend in an effort to summon up ghosts, demons and even Hitler as I recall.

Cue sunday morning and about five mildly nervous kids sat in the graveyard, with no fucking ouija board to be seen of course - the nearest one lad had was a few bits of paper with letters written on, and a plastic beaker. It's fair to say that enthusiasm waned a little.

Until we saw Les coming.

Les was not the brightest fella in the world. Nor indeed the most popular. We saw him entering the graveyard looking round for us nervously, so we hid behind the headstones planning to make ghost noises at him.

By chance somebody spotted a soggy old abandoned leather glove laying on the floor and had a genius idea. We grabbed the glove, filled it with mud, waited until Les was fairly close but facing the other way, then lobbed it at him.

It landed almost perfectly on the top of his left shoulder nearly touching his neck - and being damp & mouldy it stuck there for a vital split second.

Les jumped about a foot in the air, looked down to see what it was - and saw a disembodied hand about to strangle him. He screamed like a girl, and ran like greased lightning. Accompanied by a clearly audible "phut phut phut" sound as his arse let go and he shat himself.

Our mate wet himself
When we were 14 or 15, me and a group of mates decided to hold a "seance", mainly for the benefit of one particular member of our group, who was scared of absolutely everything it seemed. I'll call this friend Danny Groves, as that was his name.

Four of us met at my house before Danny was due to arrive. We pulled the curtains in my bedroom and lit candles to get a nice, dark ambience. We then gathered around my pool table, whereupon we would contact the dead via the medium of a home-made ouija board.

It was then my job to attach lengths of cotton to my friends: one end around each of their big toes and the other end around random bedroom objects. I then took my seat and tied cotton around my own toes, the other ends of which were attached to the overhead lamp and the wardrobe door respectively.

Danny duly arrives and we commence our seance. Once the usual schoolboy giggles at "is there anybody out there?" had subsided, we were on our way.

All of us except Danny had arranged a script for our "spirit", so that we all knew where to push the ouija pointer on the board. As we were all in on it (except Danny), Danny would feel the irresistible push and pull of the pointer and couldn't blame it's movements on any one individual.

So, "John" arrives and proceeds to tell us that he's seven years old and that he died in the woods that surrounded my house. We ask "John" how he died and he says that there's a scary man following him. He tells us that he's running away and that he can see a house. We ask him to describe the house and he describes the very house in which we're sitting: DUN DUN DAAAAAR!

By now, Danny is crying.

"John" continues to run towards the house. We tell him to go in and he replies that he's opened the front door and is walking up the stairs. He comes to a door, which he pushes. At this point, a length of cotton attached to my mate Toby's toe is employed to open my bedroom door.

Danny's gone quiet and is ashen faced.

"John" says that he can see five boys sitting around a table and that he's angry with them for contacting him. He says that he's going to break things.

This is when all of the lengths of cotton attached to our toes come into action for the grand crescendo. The wardrobe door opens, the overhead lamp swings. The TV switches on and a book falls from a shelf; the window latch starts tapping on the window sill and a cup falls off of a shelf. A toy car shoots across the carpet and there would've been more but Danny scarpered to the bathroom as he'd wet himself. Literally.

Astonishingly, I have a very tiny penis. EXPLAIN THAT SKEPTICS.
(apeloveragecommitted the vile act of onanism on, Fri 21 Apr 2006, 6:20,
Reply)

After messing with the Dark Side, I got peed on.
I attended a girls boarding school. Not just any girls boarding school, but one for 'The Arts', so you can at least double the amount of girlie hystrionics because of all the arty 'thesps' and creative types.

Anyway, as you do, we would all gather to play Ouija and tell ghost stories after lights out, and get ourselves all worked up into girly panics and crying fits. It didn't help that the school was a 16th century Mansion built by King Charles II for Nell Gwyn with lots of secret passageways, rooms and general creepy spookiness.

After one such ouija session a girl was telling a particularly scary story. I decided to have a little fun and 'up the anti'. I crawled under the domitory beds commando-style until I got to the one at the end where my friend was sitting with her legs hanging down.

At the climax of the story I reached out from under the bed and grabbed her ankles, hard.

We were doing a ouija board.
Me and my mates, in the local park, when we were about 14. I drew a rough version up of a board on paper, with the relevant numbers, letters and 'yes, no' sections. We proceeded to try and talk to spirits, using a 2p coin as a guide, asking various questions and seeing where the 2p coin moved.

Obviously, nothing happened, we all moved the coin a little, basically it was shit."I know, lets tear it up and bury it in the graveyard, and come back in the morning to see if anything has happened to it", said Twaz (not the brightest).

We all agreed that this was the only way to be sure of any 'contact' so we did just that. The next morning we went to the same spot, and removed the pile of earth from on top of our ripped up ouija board.... There were screams of terror, one girl even cried. The paper had magically joined itself together, in fact you would never know that it had been torn in the first place.To this day, they all still mention 'that' morning.

What i didn't tell them was that i had drawn up a new version and swapped it that morning, whilst on my paper round.........
(Monkey the ChickenTwitter: death_stairs, Thu 20 Apr 2006, 20:09,
Reply)

very scary
I used to live in Newcastle and shared a flat with 6 other people. Anyway, two of the girls I shared with would often sit in the room next to mine and gossip. The walls were pretty thin so I could make out what they were saying. A few times in a row I heard them talking about me and making fun of me a bit (I was quite shy at the time). Anyway on one fateful day I heard them chuckling away and then I heard very distinctively one of the girls say - "How come you can still hear us even though there's nobody here?" and then lauging away in a very mocking tone. There was no mistaking the voice - it was definitely my flatmate's voice I could hear. So understandably shaken I went next door and indeed there was nobody there at all. So what were the voices I heard? Well turned out I was suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and I was having auditory hallucinations (although I didn't find that out until much later). Things got a lot worse - more voices, voices all the time, very scary - I was sectioned and put in a psychiatric ward and I am still taking medication today. Woo.
(BIVwas recently envatted., Sun 23 Apr 2006, 13:43,
Reply)

Message from the other side...
As a paramedic I get to see dead people on a fairly regular basis - however, it’s very dull, usually quite smelly and spookiness is pretty much non-existent.

My partner decided to alleviate the boredom once whilst waiting for the police and coroner to take over at the scene of an elderly deceased Aboriginal lady. He picked up a pair of clap-sticks (carved wood used for making aboriginal musical rhythms) and proceeded to do a little dance around the deceased’s body whilst chanting "Oh-spirit-of-the-big-fat-dead-lady-can-you-hear-me."

It was just then that the spirit of the big fat dead lady decided to rather loudly exit her body via her anus.

Of course it could have just been post-death flatulence, but I like to think she was trying to reach my partner from the other side...
(emadexthinks the world will end on, Thu 20 Apr 2006, 17:43,
Reply)

Don't piss my mum off. Ever.
My mum's always been a bit on the demonic side. This is her story:

Forty years ago, when she was first married, she had a vile boss (gropey, sleazy, verbally abusive old shitter). One night, after a horrible day at work, she stood crying over the sink peeling spuds for my dad's dinner. In a fit of impotent rage, she stabbed one of the potatoes right through with the knife, shrieking "Die, you BASTARD!".

Feeling slightly better (and a bit embarrassed), she straightened her apron, checked the kitchen clock to see how long she had before my dad got in (it was 5.34pm), and resumed making the dinner.

The following day she got into work to find that her boss had been killed outright in a head-on car crash with a tractor on a country road that previous evening. It later transpired that his watch was broken in the impact and thus pinpointed the exact time of death: 5.34pm.

OK, it would be more sensational/ relevant if, instead of a tractor, a vast potato had rolled out Raiders of the Lost Ark-stylee and dispensed with him... but it's still a BIT spooky.
(weebear1974discovering the joy of cat rape since, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 13:35,
Reply)

Screaming Embarrassment...
This might take a while so bear with me…

Years ago, when I was 12 and before I got into the kind of teenage parties mentioned last week, I would often stay over with a couple of mates at a friend who we shall call Nick. Nick’s dad had a big house and would often go away at the weekend, leaving us to do what most kids would do: watch 18 rated films, read porn, nick sips from his dad’s whisky and talk shit about girls we fancied.

Now, Nick’s dad had a very fancy hi-fi system. It even had one of those new CD player thingies until Nick broke it (he read that CDs can be played even when covered with jam, you work out the rest). The hi-fi even had a device called hi-speed dubbing which allowed you to record tapes at fast speeds. Now, if you taped something at high speed and played it back at normal speed, it was slow, deep and spooky. We fucked around for hours doing scary voices, even going off key a little so that we sounded discordant and weird. When it came to listening back to our efforts, we put the tape in and pressed play. And nothing happened.

Power cut. No tape, no lights, no top-loading VCR, no illicit watching of Robocop. Bugger. So we did what any other kid would do in a black-out. We lit candles, constructed a tent like thing in the lounge (the reason why escapes me) and told ghost stories to each other. Smart.

So come 2 o’clock, we’re in a makeshift tent in the lounge, in candle-light and telling more and more gruesome stories. Nick had just come to the end of his tale and was finishing with the immortal line: “And the bodies were never found…!” We were enjoying the shiver of terror down our spines in the silence that followed when from somewhere outside of the tent we heard at an ear-shattering volume:

“YOU ARE ALL GOING TO DIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Followed by a high pitched, girly scream.* It was at this point that I soiled myself for the first time ever.

Turns out that the power had come back on but in our idiot attempts to make the machine work we had stuck it into play and whacked the volume right up. After we had turned every light in the house on, I made my excuses and waddled to the bathroom.

Ghostbusters
When I was a kid me an my brother were obssesed with ghostbusters, so one xmas our parents got us these ghostbuster backpacks and guns and all. So this Xmas there we were running round the upstairs of my aunts house back packs on, screaming "don't cross the lines!!!"; woe betide any spook attempting to mess with us!

We ended up battling some ghosts in my aunts bedroom one of us on either side of the bed, my aunt had 2 skinny wardrobes built into the wall on either side of the bed so we decided that would be the natural place for ghosts to hide.

As we made our way cautiously towards the doors, they both flew open with a startilng bang, I froze eyes wide and out lept our parents one out of each wardrobe both screaming at the tops of thier voices, in the confusion we rightly shit ourselves, started screaming dropped the guns and ran for our lives. Some ghostbusters huh? (Some parents huh?)
(ShizerKaiser, Fri 21 Apr 2006, 0:59,
Reply)

The dark side fucks with us...
Apologies for the length (its fucking huge) but all this is a true story. I fucking swear. It seriously changed my outlook on circumstances like this permanently. I've even included the address of the actual house. So if you feel like it, go get a cup of tea and have a read, if not skip it.

It started with the house.

I had to live in this house. I was recently unencumbered of a young lass I had been living with. In a very short space of time I had to acquire new lodgings for my self and my personal affects. My friend of old times fortunately had room in his house.

The house.

The dwelling in particular was numbered as 13a on Adams terrace and was situated in Aro Valley, A suburb of Wellington, New Zealand. The valley itself was the first placed where European settlers built significant homes some 140 odd years before. All of it’s houses are aged, some decrepit, some protected. Backyards were scrub and thick, knee high under bush leading into forest.

13a was set into the left hand side of the gully, set deep back away from the road by a good twenty five to thirty meters of stairs. Our house, as it was when I moved in, never saw the light of the sun. It was eternally in shadow throughout the year. To say it was damp would be approximate to saying that there is a little bit of rice in Japan. 13a was a house damp to the point of decay. Myself and my housemates would, on a regular basis, find exceedingly large, dead spiders scattered around the house. Spiders would crawl inside our cold abode to end their days, it was their graveyard.

As the days progressed after my arrival I became aware of a background sense of uneasiness within myself. I labeled the feeling as a symptom of my recently terminated relationship, yet when I was outside of the house I felt in no way perturbed by the same vague and somewhat unpleasant feelings I had while in the house. I did however notice the same behaviors in my housemates. The mood was often hushed inside. People were quiet, withdrawn, on edge.

Then I started noticing the regular and constant footfall noises coming from below our house, as if walking up stairs, for the house was split into two levels.

Winter set in. It grew bitterly cold in our mildew pit within the pine trees. One day, being on edge while sitting in the lounge I once again heard the heavy footsteps of our neighbor below, tramping up and down on his stairway.

“Why does he have to be so loud when he’s walking up and down those stairs?” I commented aloud, greatly vexed by the number of times he felt inclined to walk up them of a day, like some insane bee plagued with a wasting mental deficiency. My friend looked at me from across the sitting room,“There are no stairs down there bro. They were demolished years ago when the house was split in two.”“What do you mean?”“I mean no one knows who is walking up and down those stairs that don’t exist anymore.”

A chill came over me as the tale of a previous house mate who had been more than a little too interested in study of the occult was related. While too long to relate here it led to his eventual mental breakdown and subsequent departure from the flat, leaving behind him only a mutilated copy of the King James Bible.

Time wore on and I grew accustomed to the noises from the stairwell that didn’t exist, though it brings chills to remember the noise now. Winter descended like a hellish roller coaster into what can only be described as uberwinter.

I was seated on my own in the lounge, not one of my housemates was at home of the evening. I was reading a book. The footsteps in the hall started again, they walked up, down, then up again. A small knock at the door disturbed me. I glanced out towards the smoke glass doorway through the hall. No one was illuminated in the porch light. I rested myself back against the wall, noticing the sudden plume of steam from my breath. Then down one end of the hallway, near the door

BANG!

A huge sound, as if a fist was being slammed into the wall. Every hair on my body stood on end!

BANG! BANG BANG!

Coming down the hallway to me faster and faster. I sat paralyzed with a horrible crawling fear! Jesus God What was happening?

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Behind my head I could *feel* the impacts on the wall. The paralysis snapped as I fled in terror though the hallway, daring not look, into my bedroom, slammed the door and played music at an extremely loud volume. The noises stopped or were drowned out by the music.Sometime later my friend returned home and found me in my chambers still in a perturbed state.

He took one look in my eyes, leant back on the doorframe, and, raising his head slightly from where he had rested it on his chest asked me quite plainly,

“Banging on the walls?”

I nodded furiously in ascension, relieved he had obviously experienced the same. I felt myself clawing my way back to sanity as he related the story of his experience, similar to mine. It did not end there however. This whateverthefuck was not adverse to manifesting in front of groups of people.

Have you ever heard the sound of phantom breathing? I have and it's fucking horrible.

After a night of playing records in our lounge I was in the process of retiring to my quarters of an evening. I had performed my regular evening ablutions and was walking down the cold, dark hallway when I heard my friend call my harshly name from under his breath, almost like a whisper he said

“Get in here now!”

I joined him and his lady companion who were sitting on the couch. They both looked pale and shaken.

“What’s happening?” I asked.“Quiet, listen!”

Then I heard it.

From directly in front of our faces, not from the ceiling, not from the floorboards and certainly not from any outside source, came the sound of heavy, distinct, dreadfully cold, breathing. It was sound a person might make as they breathed their last.

It was an eerie, disjointed sound, un-natural and uniquely disturbing, seen The 6th Sense? Yeah, just like that. It's freakin me out all over again writting about it. We gazed at each other in pure disbelief, a look that mingled both terror and sheer amazement at what was manifesting before our very eyes and ears. Whatever it was, it was definitely intended for us to hear it. We could feel the tangible presence of something inhabiting the space just in front of our faces.

Something, that was looking back at usIt continued manifesting for maybe a minute, then faded away. We all retired back to our rooms immediately, leaving all the lights on, not trusting our senses in the dark and jumping at the shadows in the corners of the room lest they hold some spiritual vision of unchained malice. For this was the feeling that all these events held, malice. We were unwanted, extremely unwanted.

The months progressed and during the daytimes and in the bar’s of the city we would make light of our haunted house. Then the moments would return in the late evenings. When you were afraid to glance in the mirror for fear of glancing something over your shoulder. When you were surprised by a cat moving through the house. When you heard those echoing footsteps in the hallway again.

Other events happened that were not experienced by me. A friend sleeping in our lounge overnight told us how he felt a presence move through the room, disturbing glasses and cups on the coffee table, walk up to him and tug on the bone pendant hung around his neck. He refused to stay with us in 13a ever again following that incident.

We eventually moved out from 13a in the early spring, we were all of us desperately ill with complaints relating to the overwhelming dampness of the house. One night we returned, to clean the empty house for the new tenants before their arrival. The house stood empty and dead, in a way I’m sure it was happy to be. We entered the dark structure and turned on all the lights. Without our familiar furniture and belongings around, the menace of the house increased one hundred fold. Five minutes cleaning separate rooms was enough to convince both of us that we should stick together. We felt continually watched by the presence we knew existed in the empty rooms of the spider’s death chamber. Eyes watched us from behind the walls, regarding us with an intent that was palpably hostile. We finished our cleaning, moved backwards through the shell, turning off lights one by one, until only the porch light remained. We turned it off, locked the door and moved with haste down to the road below. Forever sealing off the chamber from all but our memories. We never ever have returned to 13a Adams terrace.

That is the end of the stories I have to tell of 13a Adams terrace. Maybe others have more, maybe they don’t, but the details as I have related them to you did in fact happen.

School field trip 1994
at the start of the 1993 September Term we had a new boy join our School having been expelled from the other local school for shooting a teacher with a bb gun.Carter was/is a legend he was funny, hard as nails but an all round nice bloke.He ended up going out with the most good looking Girl in our year and one thing led to another and teenage hormones took over and they ended up shagging.Being horny 14 year old safe sex didnt always make the grade and in the end he hit her with the breeding pole.Now nobody was supposed to know this but carter confided in a "friend" that his girlfriends parents made her have a hush hush abortion, what with her being so young and all.Carter was/is against abortions and it really troubled him that "his child" was "killed".

Fast forward six months and we were all on a Geography field trip looking at stones and shit in deepest darkest Wales.One night in the boys dorm a Ouija Board was drawn up and "somehow" (so carters so called mate) the pointer was "drawn" (pushed) towards Carter and then spelled out

DADDY WHY DID YOU KILL ME

He burst out crying and ran out of the room.Sick joke? oh yesFunny? Oh yesDead Baby ghost? no sorry
(Barry Chucklehas gone out in the thong to feed the pigeons, Thu 20 Apr 2006, 13:20,
Reply)

Never before have i been more scared in my life
as bizzare as this story is, I garuntee, its 100% true. - not sure if it counts however i wasnt realy trying to tempt any evils.

About 3 weeks ago, I was walking back from a nights drinking and poker at a mates, around 2am, because I had work at 8, so I wanted a good nights sleep in my own bed.

I live in a pretty farmy area, so to get to my village from the next, youve got to get down some pretty dimly lit country lanes, past rabbit colonies and the likes,It was eerily lit, and I was merrily plodding along with my kronenburg in my hand, enjoying the rustles of the odd rabbit legging it home scared,But, the rustles got a bit more violent, and that scene from jurassic park came to mind, naturally, i steped up my walking a pace to a brisk stroll,But the rustles just got worse and a bit louder and violent,....they died down again after a moment, and, I stopped, the street lights start again about 200 yards down the lane where my village begins to emerge so i could see i was safely on my way home, I knelt down to do my bootlace up,Cue, the bushes to my right, a creeping rustle,And the most god awful, unholy Snarling sound ive ever heard, and a bolt of ungodly black evil tore out from the shrubbary, fuck me ive never lept to my feet so quick i couldnt even hold onto my beer, and I legged it as fast as i could toward the streetlights,I stopped, under the second or third light, to look back, and in the middle of the lane, staring madly at me, was the biggets fuckoff badger ive ever seen, about 100yards backThat thing would have eaten me, i swear,

Don't Open That Door!
Okay I'll start this off with a couple of excuses. Firstly, it's not funny, sorry about that, but it is completely true and maybe vaguely interesting. So saying, no one else has ever believed me so why should you lot be any different. Also, as you'll be able to tell at the end, this is not really a ghost story per se but the weird workings of my childish mind and the inability to tell apart dreams and real life. At least I hope so.

So, it started when I was much younger and pretty inconspicuously. I was awakened (at what felt like, to an eight year old) the middle of the night by the noise of someone noisily messing around with pans downstairs in the kitchen. Not exactly spooky but a bit annoying. I listened to the noise for a few moments and when it stopped I thankfully went back to sleep. The next night the same thing happened again, woke up by pans banging together by some inconsiderate parents downstairs, and again the next night and the night after that. I think I let it go on for about a week until I plucked up the courage to ask my parents to maybe, you know, stop being so damn noisy while I was trying to sleep. Fully expecting to be told to sod off, my mother just looked at me funny. She patiently explained that if there was washing up to do after me and my brother had gone to bed they'd leave it as, obviously, putting it away would be noisy enough to wake us up. I must just be dreaming it. Okay then. It was just a dream. A strange one but still just a dream. What was stranger was what happened that night when I went to sleep. Again I was 'woken up' by the same noise, I remember thinking it didn't feel like a dream at the time and when I recalled it in the morning, but I was too young to be sure. The difference was that after listening to the noise of the pans, this time, I heard someone walking around in the kitchen.

The next night exactly the same thing and then, again, the night after that. The only problem was that after the noise of the pans there was more and more walking and with the dawning horror (to a level that I still maintain only children can feel) I realised that the footsteps were heading towards the kitchen door. Over the next month I 'dreamt' this every single night without fail and every night there would be one or two footsteps more to hear before the noises stopped and I could go back to sleep. Only by this time the pan noises would be followed by the footsteps walking from one end of the kitchen to the other and then beginning to climb the stairs. My fear ratcheted up another notch every night as the noise came one step closer to making it to the top. By the time the noises were continuing for so long they were onto the landing I was pleading with my parents to let me sleep in their room, all to no avail. After all it was just a dream. I didn't dare tell them the footsteps were now distinctly heading directly for my bedroom door in case they thought I was truly crazy.

The whole episode lasted about two months in total with the exact same dream, if that's what it was. Those final nights when the footsteps ended right next to my, now firmly closed, door were easily the most terrifying of my life. The last two were the worst. The footsteps reached my door and stopped and the only noise I could hear, by holding my own, was the sound of breathing on the other side. I pretty much screamed the house down that night until my parents burst in to calm me down. The final climactic night, unsurprisingly, raised and answered several questions about the whole incident. I'd not been able to get back to sleep the night before, even when my parents saw how scared I was and let me into their bed, I just lay between them trying to make my heart slow down. As a result I was exhausted and after a pathetically unsuccessful attempt to stay awake all night I 'awoke' to hear the noises begin again.

Picture an eight year old boy, sheets pulled up to his chin ready to engulf his head if need be, whimpering softly in terror as the noise of the pans started in the kitchen, all too soon replaced by the slow, unstoppable footsteps, across the kitchen, up the stairs, onto the landing and heading for his bedroom door. I remember the covers were over my head when the breathing started on the other side of the door. I had no problem hearing it this time as my own breathing had stopped involuntarily and my moans had fallen silent. After a minute that I thought would drive me crazy, waiting for the knock I knew was coming I suddenly felt, finally, that it was just a dream. The reason for this is that the real me would never be brave enough to get up and head for the door. Never be brave enough to confront the thing before it confronted me and never be brave enough to slowly turn the handle with a violently trembling hand. I wrenched the door open and realised a little too late that putting the light on first might have been the clever thing to do. It was pitch black inside my room as well as on the landing so I only caught a brief glimpse of what stood on the other side of the door before I was screaming my lungs out. I'd find out later that I was so loud the neighbours were asking my parents if everything was okay when they saw them the next day. Inside my head I could hear my own voice yammering at me that it was all just a dream and that I shouldn't be frightened. Which makes it slightly odd that my parents found me not in bed but standing at the open door of my bedroom, handle still clamped in a death grip wailing for them to help me.

It took quite a while for them to calm me down but the strange thing is that it was mostly accepted if not forgotten by the next night when I went to sleep. I slept pretty well because I was now sure that it was all a dream. The reason I was sure was because that snatched glimpse of my tormentor was enough to see who it was. That split second sight of the being that was waiting for me on the other side of the door was long enough to see that it was me.
(Gleeballsis mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Mon 24 Apr 2006, 9:15,
Reply)

a kid who went to my pre-school

was playing forts or something, as kids do, and crawled inside the fridge in his house. Somehow the door shut, and sadly the babysitter was 'busy' with her boyfriend at the time and didn't notice until it was too late.

From that day on, the fridge was noticeably colder than the rest of the house. EXPLAIN THAT, SKEPTICS.
(apeloveragecommitted the vile act of onanism on, Sun 23 Apr 2006, 14:44,
Reply)

My house
Ah, I do like telling this story, though I do have to be careful who I tell it to, some people just say I’m mad/ mistaken.

The story takes place in my parents house, though I moved to halls in uni, I do still live there. Now, the house isn’t very old, I’d guess about 11-12 years now, so not your typical haunting affair. However, the house was built on the site of a school for kids with TB during the Victorian era.

My first experience must have been about 9 years ago, I was around 10 at the time, maybe younger. I was in bed one night, fast asleep. I woke up suddenly, I wasn’t woken by noise, but as I opened my eyes and struggled to see with out my glasses (moved to contacts a few years ago yay!) I saw a purple shape hanging over me, the closest thing I can compare it to is like the t-1000 in Terminator 2 when its all shiny and molten metal, mixed with a cloud. I screamed and watched it shoot out of my door, which was open at the time, despite the fact I can’t stand to be in a room alone with the door open (don’t know why) let alone sleep in one. The shape disappeared into the hall and I saw my dad burst out of his room and run into mine, there wasn’t a break in it, I can’t have woken up half way through a dream, it all happened at the same time. After much reassurance I was just dreaming and there was nothing to be afraid of I went back to sleep and nothing really happened for a few years. I just kinda forgot about it.

Then, about 6 years later I was tidying up after a few of my friends had made a real mess in my house and all gone home, it was at least 10 mins after the last had been picked and driven home by their parents, while I was tidying up in the hall way when suddenly I hear a voice from the landing, I clearly heard my name be called by a little girl, I was a little surprised and didn’t hear what was said after. I wasn’t to bothered by this, I went upstairs expecting that a TV or radio had been left on, but none of them were on, there was nobody in the streets around the house, totally silent. I was freaked out at this point. For a few weeks after things were odd, rooms got suddenly cold, even though the heating was on. At one point I was less then five meters from the electric fire, which was on full, and very hot, yet my skin was like ice. I got the feeling of some one watching me all the time, but I’d put that down to paranoia more then anything.

I remember feeling very, very depressed for no reason on November 11th, the anniversary of the end of world war I, which was very peculiar, I’d never been depressed before that but I was totally suicidal.

In the grand and rather bizarre climax of events, I was again in bed, just like the beginning I was drifting off to sleep, my vision suddenly fades and all I can see is cloudy white, with thin bluish lies appearing and eventually forming the outline of a little girl in Victorian dress, imagine a picture that hadn’t been coloured and your getting close to what I saw. The girl was motionless, then suddenly jumps towards me and shouts “boo” like a kid trying to give me a fright, I wasn’t afraid, I thought I was dreaming, but when the girl hit me, I felt a massive jolt in my back, like id been pulled from the inside. This shocked me and I could see normally again. I went to touch my back were I felt the jolt, and found my skin ice cold, but just in that patch, the rest of my skin was normal temperature, as warm as you’d expect for some one in bed. Now, I wasn’t afraid, but I was aware of fear, like I could tell some one in the room was frightened. Feeling like a spaz, I tried to talk to the girl, I was cringing at my self as a said thing like “don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you” and then the classic “if your hear give me a sign” I was just about to role over in shame and try to sleep when I felt another jolt, this time in my lower right leg, I went to touch is, again, as cold as ice. I didn’t get the feeling of fear any more, I could just feel loneliness, but not my own. I decided to talk again, for some reason I just knew what to say “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you, I’d like to be friends.” That moment I felt totally relief, happiness and joy all in one, like a wake washing over me, then nothing, total calm. I fell asleep soon after and never experienced anything like that again.

I don’t claim to be a sceptic, but I do usually approach things from a logical view, I don’t just believe random crap because it was on TV, but I’m convinced this was real, I think its something you have to experience before you can really understand, I’ve looked for logical explanations but I just can’t see any. This story is 100% true to my experience, I don’t believe any of it was due to dreams or my imagination.

People are entitled to their own opinions on the subject of ghosts, but don’t claim they don’t exist, you may not believe in them but until you can offer proof they don’t exist, you really shouldn’t make the claims.

Ghosts
Slightly off topic, but I was quite upset this morning to see a tiny, dead baby ghost by the side of the road. I thought it must have been hit by a car.But on closer inspection in turned out to be a carrier bag.
(browserstill relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 20 Apr 2006, 14:52,
Reply)

wierd and spooky out take
Many of you will have seen this clip from the outtake of a German car ad. The makers claim that they never altered the film and the white image in front of the car when it passed through the trees was real. media.putfile.com/classic26
(freddred, Fri 21 Apr 2006, 23:00,
Reply)

dabbling with dark forces
when i was 16, hanging around bunking college, a friend and i met a girl in the local who claimed to be a witch, with a lot of ouija experience.after the initial laughing and piss-taking, she told us that if we didnt believe her, we were more than welcome to go back to hers, and do the board with her.my mate was initially skeptical, and disagreed. i, on the other hand, am quite intrigued by the 'other' world, and figured 'what the hell, why not'

so, the following night, we go back to hers, and do the ouija. so we sit down in a circle, set the board and glass up on the floor, while she cast a protective spell circle thing around us, saying that if, at any point, we felt at risk, we could more away from the board, and outside of the circle, where we would be safe (apparently, by casting the 'spell' circle, it would prevent any spirits from escaping or effecting anything outside of it), and still be able to watch.slightly nervous, but equally intrigued, we get going.

before i carry on, i must mention what i learned. it is, apparently, nigh-on impossible to contact any specific ghost/spirit, when you do the ouija, you are just opening a doorway, and communicating to whatever pops through.

anyway, first up, we find ourselves communicating with some woman, anne, who seemed to be rather friendly, and just happened to be near the gateway we'd opened. 30 minutes later, we're still randomly chatting with the nice dead lady. she goes, out pops chris, equally nice, but unable to spell. this is explained by him telling us he died as a child.so, nothing too extreme.until the next guy, aiden, who was an angry spirit. this i figured out by myself, given the fact the glass was moving fucking fast, and had some weight behind it, more that if someone was pushing it with their finger.

its at this point i start getting freaked out, as i've realised the room has gone from confortably warm, to absolutly fucking freezing, to the point that you can just about see breath vapour.

it was at this point, my mate freaked out completely, stood up, and RAN out of the door. i was about to go fetch him back when the witch explained to me that the board requires a certain balance of energy, expressed by people taking part, and the spirits, and although my mate had fucked off, we'd still be able to close the board, but if i went, she'd be fucked.

so, there we sat, for another hour, while she tried to kick the angry bastard spirit from the glass, in order to close the board. what happened in that hour is far too in-depth to go into, but in a summary, included:

- the candles surrounding the board flare up dramatically and randomly- feeling the board judder, as if kicked from underneath (rememeber, it was on the floor)- HEARING screaming from somewhere in the room (even though it sounded distant)- being further chilled by the dropping room temperature- seeing objects on a nearby table (which was inside the circle) falling over (things like a candlestick, a few cds, and a small vase. they didnt fly around the room and crash into a wall, they just fell)

once we'd finally closed the board, the room rapidly warmed up. i noticed my witch friend looking very shaken, telling me that she'd never experienced a board quite as bad as that, then spent the rest of the evening appologising for involving me, and asking if i was okay (which, surprisingly, i was)

needless to say, ive never done ouija since, and now very definately believe in some form of spirit realm. i also believe that my chicken-shit friend missed out on one of the most intriguing and amazing experiences that he could have ever had

Where if you stare into the barman's face at midnight and say "bloody mary, bloody mary, bloody mary", he gives you a cocktail involving tomato juice.
(apeloveragecommitted the vile act of onanism on, Sun 23 Apr 2006, 20:44,
Reply)

Scary for other reasons...

A while ago,my slightly morbid mother and I were having look round a really beautiful deserted church,when we bumped into the kinda maintenance man. He let us have a look inside the church and told us a bit about the history of the place which was cool.

He also told us that Gothy type kids had been hanging about until they started hearing noises in bushes (bearing in mind this place is miles from anything,including any source of light). Word got around about these noises,and eventually a paranormal investigation team turned up to have a poke about. The maintenance guy had gone with them to check nothing fell on them or anything.

Eventually,a noise was heard in a kinda of rickety old shed thing,so one investigator went over for a look about.

He peeked through a crack in the wood.....And when he returned his face was completely white..

Turns out the churchyard had been used as a place for gay blokes to meet up and have sex...

Now if that isnt the dark side I dont know what is...
(Miharu, Mon 24 Apr 2006, 7:25,
Reply)

ouija board as a young teenager, at some stupid party
question: can we talk to sid vicious?

At University...
Late one night, in one of our rooms in halls, we drunkenly decided it was a good idea to try playing with a Ouija board.

So, cue us in our disshevelled state finally managing to form a circle around this board, and all placed our hands on the cup in the centre. After about 10 minutes of giggle filled chants and hums, the glass "mysteriously moved by itself". We, being drunk, thought this was the best thing ever, and all watched, in this trance like state, as the cup spelt out random messages etc.

At this point, my friend Shaun decided it was prime time to leap head first into the centre of the group. So as we were all watching this beaker moving around, suddenly we were greeted by a huge 18 stone Scot jumping on us, shouting "GWRARGH! I'M THE GHOST OF WEE! GEE!"

Most of us found this immensely funny, except for one girl, Jules. Rather tipsy and quite drawn into the moment, she screamed louder than anything I have ever heard, leapt to her feet, and managed to set her hair on fire on a candle we had lit.

However, this was not the greatest of her worries: at this point, her hair was being batted out by her friends, with her furious screams of:

Oh dear, dead arm
I've had a few creepy experiences, like the time the Ouija board told me I would start World War 20 with the American Food and Drug Administration (WW XX USFDA). But here's the worst of them:

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling very odd indeed. I rolled over to go back to sleep, but all the sudden something cold, clammy, and unusually heavy fell over my mouth, as if it was trying to suffocate me. I freaked out and began to struggle against it. Oh my god, I thought, someone has broken into my room in the middle of the night and wants to do me in. But oddly enough, this evil person wasn't trying too hard to keep me down, so I grabbed at the cold, dead-feeling hand and pushed it away from me...

And realized it was my other hand.

Which I had apparently fallen asleep upon, cutting off the circulation and leaving it numb and immobile. Rolling over had caused it to fall on my face.

Scared the hell out of me though...

Luckily the dead arm warmed up a few minutes later and is now fully functional.
(KersaI MissiveFree Michael Shields! with Monday's Liverpool Echo, Sun 23 Apr 2006, 4:07,
Reply)

I used to keep chickens...

But then the old rooster died, and his spirit began to haunt the chicken coop.

More Ouija Board
My Grandad,rest his soul was a merry prankster.My Nan and a group of workmates,liked to go to her house in their dinner hour and do the old Ouija board.My Grandad was thoroughly fed up of this,so one day,exacted revenge.He took him a balloon,which he inflated thoroughly.He lurked against the curtained window until they were mid seance,whereupon he popped it through the open window light and let go.The result was a farting "ghost" spazzing around the room,which caused general hysterical behaviour and one of the women actually pissing herself in fright.What a man he was.
(archroyGet down wi' yer bad self., Wed 26 Apr 2006, 21:27,
Reply)